Low Battery

One

My pen ran dry. I don't really use them to their empty. Unlike my last pen, in which it was lost before I had the chance to do anything with it. Into the bin it goes. The small, grey trash bin is nearly full. I stand up from my pale wooden desk, a journal containing my recent thoughts clasped shut upon it. The bag is lifted from the trash into a larger bin to deal with later. In the kitchen. The white tiles surrounding the floor and walls seem yellowed now. I should paint them, later.

My thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock on my apartment door.
"Hello? Is anybody home?" The (slightly shaky) voice belonged to my friend, Theodore. What was he doing here? It's 8 PM.
"Yea? Theodore, what's wrong?" I hastened toward the front door. I opened it to find him clutching his arm. There wasn't much blood, but there was a sign of a fight.
"Jesus, what happened?" Theodore chuckled slightly and walked inside.
"Well, you know my girlfriend?"
"Oh no she didn't."
"She's one crazy woman, I'll tell you that." He sat down on my couch. "Do you have any bandaids?"
"Yes, hold on." I had a few left from my high school's prom. A couple guys had gotten drunk beforehand and started a racket between them and a teacher or two. There were some injuries but the delinquents were detained. I had ran to the pharmacy for bandages to help patch up a couple volunteers who got caught in between. It was a scary night, but those kids weren't seen at school ever since. Well, maybe they got held back and I wasn't aware. Being recently graduated, I don't really know what's going on at the high school.

The walk to the bathroom is just beside my bedroom, simply down the hallway. Inside, the bandaids were resting in a small cardboard box inside the mirror cabinet. I might as well grab some medical wipes, too. Hurrying back, I saw Theo typing on his phone.
"Here, use as much as you need. Do you need to stay the night?"
"No, thanks though." He lifted his phone towards me. "I'm calling an uber back to my own house."
"Are you sure?" He is worrying me. "Have you ate at least?"
"It's only seven." (it's 8.)
"You are dyslexic, anyway you should have ate."
"Kind of hard to when your ex is throwing glass at you."
"I'm going to make you something, just stay here for a bit longer."
"Okay then." I thought I heard him mutter the word 'clingy.' It's an honour.

Before I moved out of my parent's house, my mom always struggled with ideas for food. Usually it would be something similar to Chinese food, leftovers, mac and cheese, or some other basic meal idea. All it took for her to cook was an empty stomach and low prep time. That being said, I am thankful I don't have the same indecisiveness on meal choices.

I'm in the mood for some spaghetti. It's fast and easy to make, pretty good, and you can eat it with lots of different sides. Theodore is watching something on his phone.
"What sauce do you eat with spaghetti?"
"Spaghetti?! Just cooking some three-course meals without hesitation? I know you aren't a chef."
"Come on. I'm trying to be nice."
"Heh, you're an overachiever even at home. Anyway, I like that white sauce."
"Alfredo?"
"Whatever." At least he's being lighthearted, especially after this fight of his. The water is boiling. I prefer to use gas stoves because of their even heat. Especially because I can crank it up to high and get water boiling much faster than with other methods.

    The noodles slowly soften and bend at the heat. In another skillet, I have some milk and butter (plus some other things) in a mixture. It smells good for something made in ten minutes. Still needs some more salt.
"Okay, I'm done."
"Wait a second, I need to finish this."
"Theo you need to eat something."
"Chill, I will." He got up slowly. Another look and I realise that his cuts have stopped bleeding.
"Do you want anything to drink?"
"No, thanks. I can get something myself if I'm thirsty."

"Thanks again, for taking care of me."
"Oh, no problem! I get kind of lonely without anybody here with me." He was heading to leave, and stopped to thank me. At this point, it was about 9:30 PM. I felt content with what happened. Obviously not about Theodore's (ex) girlfriend, but on how I acted. I think I did good today. Well, except for one thing. I cooked too much spaghetti. I'm glad I packed some extra containers with me, otherwise it would be a great waste of food.

    With the spaghetti now sealed in my fridge, I can finally start heading to bed. I have this routine every night, I first double-check to see if the oven and stove are off. The lights are next. Using my phone's flashlight, I make my way to the front door and lock both latches shut. Walking back towards my bedroom, I close any open doors and windows. This is to help stop a fire if one does erupt. Now, in my own bedroom, I plug in my phone and settle down. Sometimes I read a book, other times I can't bother and just go to bed.

People call me paranoid, but I believe it is better than being ignorant.